I just want one more Christmas, says Deborah James five years after being given an 8 per cent chance of survival
I’M obsessed with Christmas decorations. Every year I pick out new ones – each tells a story.
Those that know me well will be unsurprised to hear shoes are a favourite, but in recent years they remind me to take one step at a time.
Nutcrackers remind me of the ballet and being little, twirling around on the stage with my mum watching proudly.
This year, a giant nutcracker made me smile through the pain as I ventured out for the first time after my second bout of sepsis and another hospital stay.
Deep down though, the real reason they are so special is they are the magic I want to leave behind.
If I don’t make it to next Christmas, my collection of decorations will.
I picture my kids Eloise, 12, and Hugo, 14, unpacking them together and laughing at how over the top their mum was, and how much she loved Christmas.
For that first Christmas without me, I hope the sparkly mess will put a smile on their faces.
I hope it’s a Christmas tradition they carry on.
Five years ago, it became all the more important to me after I was diagnosed with stage 4 bowel cancer.
read more on the sun
My world shattered into tiny pieces just days before Christmas 2016 when doctors told me my chance of living five years or longer was just eight per cent.
Five years became this terrifying benchmark in my head.
Pits of despair
There was nothing I could find to make the data better — and believe me, I searched for it.
I mourned all the milestones I would miss; my 40th birthday, seeing my kids go to secondary school, celebrating another Christmas, new decorations on the tree.
That’s why I can’t really believe I am writing this.
My five-year milestone, that date I have spent the last five years fixating on, is next week. I have made it, against all odds.
I celebrated my 40th in October, I’ve seen the kids off to their new schools and I am gearing up for my fifth Christmas with cancer in tow.
My kids are growing up and it’s a privilege to see.
They know how hairy things have been this year, but they have also had new schools to focus on.
I’m so proud to see them grow up and I’m blown away by the people they are becoming.
My husband Seb is the one who has held everything together, and I can’t thank him enough.
Too many times he’s had to play dad, mum, provider, carer. He pulls me through the darkest times.
My parents, brother, sister and their partners and families hold us all up.
For all that, and so much more, I give thanks a million times over.
Getting here hasn’t been easy. From the beginning, I found myself falling into dark pits of despair.
The best advice I got was to take things one step at a time.
When you’re facing a mountain like eight per cent survival odds, it can feel too scary and too hard.
But, you can go a long, long way when you take your mountain little by little.
Just six months ago, the idea of Christmas and my five-year milestone felt out of reach.
The drugs keeping me alive started to fail and I was in liver failure. I had an emergency operation to stent my bile duct, then came the first bout of sepsis, followed by nuclear chemo.
I could only see the next day, beyond that was a blur.
Then six weeks ago, I was rushed back to hospital after waking up feeling groggy.
I was so weak Seb, 42, had to physically carry me to the car and into the hospital’s A&E.
I was wheeled into resus and tests later showed I was fighting three types of bacteria in my bloodstream.
The source of my health problems was my bowel, this time it was infectious colitis, which triggered sepsis.
My stomach ballooned to the point I looked nine months pregnant, and I was admitted for ten days while they pumped me full of antibiotics.
It floored me, I barely slept, I didn’t eat anything solid for 20 days.
I became incontinent and had to wear a nappy.
I couldn’t clean myself or walk to the loo without help and I was doing up to 50 number twos a day. I have never felt so weak.
Right now I am still trying to recover and rebuild — it’s relentless and there are days I feel like I just can’t fight this hard anymore.
The longer you live with incurable cancer the more exhausted you get. I try my best to live life to the full, but this disease has a way of throwing life into chaos without warning.
After being bed-bound for weeks, I have lost so much weight and muscle mass. I don’t really like looking at myself in the mirror.
My miracle would be not having cancer
Chemo and my cancer treatment are on the back burner too, because I have been too unwell for my body to cope.
That fuels a new level of anxiety, living in limbo waiting to see if I am strong enough to start treatment again, hoping my cancer isn’t growing in the meantime.
In an ideal world, I would park chemo until the New Year and enjoy my first Christmas for five years with no treatment making me feel sick.
But the sooner I can get the drugs back into me, the better my chance of seeing next Christmas, and dare I hope, the one after that.
All I want from Santa this year is to see another Christmas after this.
My Christmas wish is that my health improves, my miracle would be not having cancer any more.
Wishing for another five years feels like a pipe dream.
I never expected to be here now, so to have thought beyond this point felt futile. That’s why in many ways this is where my struggle really begins.
So while it’s only getting harder, I am rolling up my sleeves again ready to take whatever 2022 has to throw at me.
This “cancerversary” is bittersweet. Those scary percentages are real people.
So while I am one of the eight per cent, the harrowing truth is 92 per cent of people in my shoes haven’t been so lucky.
Most of the people I knew and met when I was diagnosed are no longer with us.
It’s heartbreaking
This time of year is always the hardest.
I can’t stop thinking about all those families missing their loved ones. It’s a reality my family may well have to face, but I count my lucky stars this year isn’t that year.
This might be my last Christmas, who knows?
I’ve thought that for the last five years, and each time I have been proven wrong.
READ MORE SUN STORIES
So maybe, just maybe, this is the first of more to come. That really would be my Christmas miracle.
In the meantime, as well as my giant nutcracker, I am dedicating a special decoration in my collection to the 92 per cent, and all those lives taken too soon.
KNOWING BOWEL CANCER SIGNS COULD SAVE YOUR LIFE
BOWEL cancer is the fourth most common form of the disease in the UK - but the second deadliest, claiming around 16,000 lives a year.
Yet it can be cured, if it’s diagnosed early enough.
Fewer than one in ten people survive bowel cancer if it’s picked up at stage 4, but detected at stage 1 - before it’s spread - and more than nine in ten patients will live five years or longer.
There are two ways to ensure early diagnosis, screening and awareness of the symptoms.
Brits have been subjected to a postcode lottery when it comes to bowel cancer screening, with tests sent out in Scotland from 50, while people in England, Wales and Northern Ireland have to wait until they are 60.
That’s why The Sun launched the No Time 2 Lose campaign, calling on the Government to lower the screening age, to save thousands of lives a year.
In the summer of 2018, Matt Hancock agreed, in a victory for The Sun and campaigners - yet three years on and screening at 50 has yet to be widely rolled out.
While screening is an important part of early diagnosis, so is knowing the symptoms and acting if you spot the signs.
The five red-flag symptoms are:
- Bleeding from the back passage, or blood in your poo
- A change in your normal toilet habits - going more or less often for example
- Pain or lump in your tummy
- Extreme tiredness for no real reason
- Unexplained weight loss
If you’re worried, don’t be embarrassed and speak to your GP - doctors see and deal with bowel problems all the time.
We pay for your stories!
Do you have a story for The Sun news desk?
Email us at [email protected] or call 0207 782 4104. You can WhatsApp us on 07423 720 250. We pay for videos too.
Click here to upload yours.